For the land of the rising sun wherein we hope!
I
When we have been purged by the sounds of the west wind up
After we have been burnt by the firepan and firewood
When at last we had walked through the live pangs
Will the land of our rising sun be seen?
II
When shall we emerge victorious with the triumphant song? To
When our heroes and to come
When will all this madness stop
When shall we grease our palms with oils
And sit under the raisin sun?
VII
When will the spirit of Africa flow within our veins
When will our shouts, cries and moans not be in vain
When will we smile like the sun
And make our clime a home of righteousness?
VIII
When shall we remember our mass who died
When shall our trumpet peal the glorious song
Is it when we have all grown old
And our dreams have grown old too?
IX
Even if we die
We will not give up fighting,
Even if we are sent back to Egypt
We hope for Canaan shores
In the land of the rising sun
Where there is a country!